


When I Hear Songs, They Sound Like A Swan

by nothing_rhymes_with_ianto



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto/pseuds/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always the same way in war. And Jack has no choice but to lose his men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Hear Songs, They Sound Like A Swan

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "pneumonia" square of angst_bingo. Title is from what I originally thought the lyric from Fun's song 'Some Nights' was, and I thought it was poetic and cool.

It’s Jack’s second year in the trenches at Ypres, and he’s again commanding a small group of men. He’s died more than once, of course, but he’s always managed to hide it, brush it off as falling or pretending or something else. And the soldiers are good men; they don’t question their superiors.

Initially he was confident in his leadership. But now so many have died in battle, and others are dying of illness. He’s had men taken away to hospital because they got so badly ill or hurt. Those were the ones well enough to be cured or taken care of. The hopeless cases get left with him and with the rest of his men. And winter has set in; he knows that some of his men aren’t well enough to survive it.

Daniel is laid out on a wooden pallet chunk of duckboard shoved into the wall of the trench. Jack knows he’s not going to survive and it hurts, because this kid is one that he’s had the longest. Daniel came to the trench with Jack, but Jack knows he won’t be leaving with him. He hasn’t eaten in days, has been shaking and sweating and coughing for weeks. Pneumonia has a hold on him, and Jack knows sepsis is setting in. Now he can no longer stand up, and stays curled up on the pallet in the corner, coughing and shivering.

Most of the men are off getting rations or making repairs to the trench now that winter has gripped them firmly and the threat of trenchfoot is even worse. But Jack has stayed behind, and they all know it’s because of Daniel. They all know that Daniel has been by Jack’s side for over a year now, and that there’s no hope left for him anymore. Jack crouches down beside the soldier.

“How are you doing, Private?”

“’Orrible,” Daniel replies hoarsely, his voice barely a whisper now. He coughs pitifully and winces. “But I’ve come to expect that.”

Daniel shivers and Jack pulls the blanket up to his chin, but the wool is damp and is probably making it worse. Daniel gives a grimacing attempt at a smile in thanks. His fever is too high and he’s wheezing now, shaking and flushed and they both know it’s not going to be much longer. Jack gazes down at the young man that had become such a close friend despite their difference in rank, and wishes things could be different.

“Captain, can I get a last cigarette? I know ‘m on way out.” The young soldier drags a hand out from under the blanket and gestures with two fingers.

Jack nods and fumbles in his coat for a cigarette and a match. Daniel takes a drag and immediately starts coughing, but waves Jack away and chokes on his breath for a moment before he gets it back. He takes small, short tokes on the cigarette, closing his eyes and savouring the taste. Jack doesn’t want to think about the fact that Daniel is the last from his original company. He doesn’t want to think about how he’ll outlast all the rest of the men here, too.

“Listen, Captain, will you write my mum? Just tell her I love her, and that I have faith this will all end soon.” Jack nods solemnly. “And write my sweetheart. Her name’s Lydia. Tell her the same. And tell her to go find some other boy to love after they’re all back from this war. I don’t want her pinin’ over me or nothin’.”

Jack commits it all to memory. Daniel’s teeth are clicking together from the waves of chills across his body. Jack breathes shortly through his mouth to avoid the familiar stench of coming death. Daniel clenches his hand.

“I just don’t understand.”

“What?” Jack knows that whatever it is, he won’t have the answer.

“So many have died. Why did we survive?”

“I don’t know why you survived.” Daniel doesn’t seem to notice the use of the word ‘you’. He’s not going to survive much longer, anyway.

“I didn’t think you would,” The soldier admits between hacking coughs. “Nothing makes sense out here.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack mumbles, getting maudlin for a moment. Daniel was always loyal and smart, strong enough to survive for so long. But no longer, and Jack beats at himself for not protecting him, not being able to send him home alive. Some part of him curses the fact that he always seems to get too close with his men. “I wanted to bring you home safe.”

“It’s all right, sir. I didn’t think I’d be coming back. I didn’t think I’d even last this long, but I did somehow. And now I’m dying of bloody pneumonia instead of with dignity on the line. Guess you can’t have ‘em all.” He swallows thickly and gives Jack’s hand a squeeze. “Listen, you make sure to beat back those huns and stop this war, all right?”

“I will, Private.” Jack says gravely. He knows how it’ll all go.

“Thanks.” Daniel looks up at Jack and smiles weakly, his eyes glittering. His lip is split with dryness and bleeding in little spots. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

Jack knows there will be no ‘later’ for him, but he holds the Daniel’s gaze as the young soldier twitches and stills, watching the light fade from the blue eyes before he reaches across the space and gently closes the eyelids, his other hand still holding Daniel’s now still one.

War is part of Jack’s life, and has been since he was far too young. He’s fought and died and fought some more, he’s been captured and tortured and he’s lead and followed. He’s lived the life of a soldier more than any other life. War is an aspect of his world that is nearly constant. Sometimes he’s grateful for it and grateful for the escape from thought and confusion it gives him. Sometimes he looks down on the bodies of these soldiers like Daniel, who are seventeen and spent their last hours in a muddy ditch, and wonders what the hell it’s all _for_.


End file.
